


The Friend Who Can Be Silent

by sexyvanillatiger



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Jock Boyd, Jock Scott, M/M, Prompt Fill, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 15:46:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2156181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexyvanillatiger/pseuds/sexyvanillatiger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Last year, Stiles roomed with Vernon Boyd, and he thought that was pretty cool. Out of naivety or optimism, he assumed that they would be rooming again sophomore year. The assumption operated cleanly until Stiles got a text from Boyd, who explained how he had managed to find an apartment off campus for the next school year, and Stiles might want to find a new roommate. By the way, this one kid who'd just been picked up by the team needed a roommate and maybe Stiles could hook up with him.</p><p>Prompt fill for <a href="http://tnw-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/4905.html?thread=526633#t526633">this prompt</a> at the Teen Wolf Kink Meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Friend Who Can Be Silent

Last year, Stiles roomed with Vernon Boyd, and he thought that was pretty cool. He's quiet, agreeable, and bonus perks, he's a backup linebacker for the football team. To this day, Stiles is still meeting friends-of-friends-of-friends because of this affiliation. Another great thing about Boyd is that he's smart, which is why he ended up in Honors student housing instead of one of the athlete dorms.

It was a fluke they even ended up together, and it was more of a fluke that they more or less got along. Or at least, they did by Stiles' definition, which was that they could talk to each other if they wanted but often didn't, and it wasn't painful to sit in a room together quietly for extensive amounts of time. If they needed to, each was a trustworthy confidant.

So Stiles, whether out of naivety or optimism, assumed that they would be rooming again sophomore year. Boyd, who never says much, never corrected him. The assumption just operated cleanly until Stiles got a text from Boyd, who explained how he had managed to find an apartment off campus for the next school year, and Stiles might want to find a new roommate. By the way, this one kid who'd just been picked up by the team needed a roommate and maybe Stiles could hook up with him.

Stiles, of course, is betrayed. He says so, with plenty of exclamation points, and Boyd replies that he expected that, but this guy is super cool, and Boyd heard he's from Stiles' hometown, and if he just gave him a chance, things could work out with minimal fuss.

Stiles agrees, begrudgingly, to meet this guy, but only out of curiosity. Stiles hasn't been back to his hometown since his father took a job in Sacramento, but that doesn't mean he's forgotten about everybody who lived there. Beacon Hills isn't the smallest town in the world, but it's small enough for him to remember Scott McCall, apparent football star of Beacon Hills High, surpassing even Jackson Whittemore since sophomore year.

They met in a sandbox, and managed to be very good friends for a couple weeks before school started. Stiles was very displeased to know that despite living in almost the same neighborhood, he was zoned for Portola and Scott would attend Arroyo Seco. It was in the middle of that historic tantrum that Stiles' father informed him that he wouldn't be going to Portola Elementary, anyways.

Sacramento had better hospitals, he'd said, which was great at the time, but after Claudia Stilinski's passing, neither Stiles nor his father had felt any desire to go back home.

Sitting on a park bench in Beacon Hills for the first time in twelve years, Stiles wonders if Scott even remembers him in return. He's not going to know Scott when he sees him, he's just going to have to wait for the guy who recognizes him from his picture. He anticipates that it will be extremely awkward.

It isn't.

Scott appears from across the playground, heading straight for Stiles, very clear in his purpose. He approaches with a wide, lopsided smile, and has his hand out to shake three steps too early. To save him from putting it down, Stiles slides out of his seat and reaches for it, and the grip is just right. Who knew asthmatic little Scott McCall would turn into…into _this_. Maybe not an Adonis but close enough to be Stiles' walking wet dream. Is that a tattoo?

"Hey, when Boyd said he had a friend who was looking for a roommate, I had no idea it'd be you!"

"So you remember me?" Stiles feels flushed, a little embarrassed that he underestimated Scott. Of course Scott remembers him. They only knew each other for a short while, but they had been _such good friends_ , Scott reminds him.

"Yeah," Stiles agrees wistfully, nostalgia nipping at him. "So you got on the football team?"

"Yeah, that's actually how I met Boyd," Scott explains. He mentions getting onto the Beacon Hills High team, making varsity and co-captain in the same year, his job at the local vet's office, and some girl named Allison. Stiles talks about Sacramento, his father's job on the police force, and how he's in school to get a criminology degree so he can become a detective. Scott, unlike Boyd, is not shy about how cool he thinks that is.

"I have football, but other than that, I haven't really thought about what I want to do, yet," he admits, and Stiles feels old for a moment. Especially when the words _You'll figure it out_ leave his mouth. Scott doesn't look patronized, he looks inspired, like he never believed it until Stiles said it.

"Do you know what room we're in?"

"Room eleven, third floor. It's kind of tricky, though, cause the first floor is like, halfway underground, so we're kind of like the second and a half floor. It's only two flights of stairs, anyways." Stiles feels really embarrassed about rambling for a moment, but Scott just smiles. "Have you been on campus yet?"

"I had a tour, but I'm definitely going to be printing off a map."

"It's pretty easy. We're right in the middle of campus, and all the academic buildings are up the hill. You'll be fine."

The football players are always fine. The school keeps a constant wind of support against their backs; it's what gives such a small school such a big team. Stiles should know, he's been piggy-backing off of the prestige for a year now.

Having met Scott, though, Stiles has no doubt that he'd get the same royal treatment, with or without his jersey. He's too likable. It's not even annoying, it's just annoying how _not_ annoying it is. Stiles banefully finds himself excited to be rooming with a freshman. He doesn't think that it's weird that he finds Scott as attractive as he is outgoing and upbeat. It's just frustrating because Stiles' policy is against dating roommates. He's also got a bias against jocks that has been slowly eroding since his time with Boyd, but Scott. Scott is just straight up _breaking_ all biases. So it's not weird that he finds him attractive, but it's definitely exasperating.

 

Scott moves in first. He's in the dorm for almost an entire week before the first day of classes, doing tours and meeting other freshman and probably something with the football team that Stiles doesn't really care about because he's still at home for another five days. Scott texts him for every single one of those days, sending pictures of things that Stiles has seen hundreds of times, explaining things Stiles has known about since his first month at college.

It's still not annoying, though. It's endearing, and Stiles isn't getting irked. He's getting excited. He's _looking forward_ to the silent third floor of the library with its floor-to-ceiling windows and uncomfortable chairs. He's looking forward to the half of the rec pool that is zoned off for public swim from six in the morning until eight at night. He's awaiting how good Thursday night ribs are at the eateries at the beginning of every semester.

The fun part is filling in the gaps. Scott will tell Stiles about the free dance classes at the rec and Stiles will recommend a specific dance teacher. Scott lists the different food courts on campus and Stiles lists the best and worst parts of all of them. Scott mentions the library and Stiles tells him his favorite spot hidden back behind bookshelves that nobody ever attends. Scott uses a lot of exclamation marks; Stiles does not withhold himself, in solidarity.

 

The only thing Stiles would say hinders the conversation is Allison. Not that she hinders the conversation because she seems like a really nice person. It also seems that Scott finds her to be a really nice person. Which is nice. Very nice.

Especially when Scott talks about her, tells Stiles how he should meet her, she's so smart and funny and beautiful. Stiles replies to that with an infuriated _(:_ , hoping that Scott does not pick up on the infuriation. That would just be Stiles, pacing in his room, running his hands through his hair until it starts falling out, or thereabouts. Deciding that not replying to a text with that much gravity would definitely arise suspicion.

Scott doesn't even notice. He's too excited about the student center hosting live jazz nights the last Thursday of every month and the fact that both he and Stiles have American Government this semester.

 

It's not fair to say that they "accidentally" color coordinated, because both of their beds are made up with primary colors, and not very uncommon ones either, but it is a pleasant surprise. Scott's side of the room has been made up with a poster of some lacrosse player Stiles doesn't recognize, a sports-themed calendar, a collage of animal pictures (patients from the vet's office), and a framed picture of a girl with long, dark hair.

Stiles inspects the picture disdainfully while his father carries in a box of beddings. He gets caught making a face, and his father raises his brow at him, a silent _Is this something you want to make a priority?_ that quiets his ugly expression and returns him to making his bed and pinning up newspaper clippings and posters of his favorite artwork.

"So, do I get to meet him?" Stiles' father asks while setting up a lamp and an alarm clock. Stiles, currently unfolding, re-folding, and stowing away his rumpled t-shirts, shrugs.

"He said he had one last day of activities for this get-to-know-campus thing."

"Did you ever do that?"

"Nah," Stiles shrugs, trying to remember what he spent his last week before classes doing.

Scott returns when Stiles' father is about ready to leave; in fact, a collision that occurs in the doorway is narrowly avoided by Scott grabbing the door handle before it can swing in all the way and hit Stiles' father.

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't realize you were right there," he gushes quickly, slipping in more carefully this time.

"It's fine, son, I'm sure you didn't," Stiles' father replies, looking back at Stiles with a livened smile. Stiles just rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. "I'm Stiles' father. I'm just here to help him move in." He shakes Scott's hand and tells him, "I was actually on my way out, but I told Stiles to tell you that I'll be back around next weekend to take him out to dinner, and if you want to come, you're more than welcome."

Stiles flushes and drops his arms to his side. "Well I don't have to tell him now that you have, _dad_."

Scott just smiles like he doesn't give a flying rat over the difference, and says that he'd be honored to go. Stiles' father leaves then, making Stiles promise that he will send at least one text this week. Scott gives Stiles an animated smile, lopsided jaw looking stupidly attractive when he says that Stiles' dad seems nice.

"Yeah, he's okay. I think I'll keep him."

Scott laughs, fully and unabashedly, and it makes Stiles laugh, just that Scott is laughing. It's really dumb and attractive.

"My mom said that she'd drop by whenever she got a night off. She'd really like to me you."

"Yeah," Stiles says, "that'd be cool." Meeting the parents. Stiles doesn't think he ever met Boyd's parents. Maybe saw them in passing? Surely he met them, they moved in on the same date. But he definitely didn't meet them the way Scott met his father. Dinner this weekend. Stiles needs to get a hold of himself before then.

Scott interrupts the silence, saying, "We didn't get dinner as a group, so…I was gonna go get tacos from the student center." He holds his thumb out, pointed back towards the door in a way that casually means Stiles is invited.

He doesn't even say anything, just pulls his shoes on, tucks his keys in his pocket, and follows Scott out the door.

 

Stiles calls Derek after the first couple days. He gets an answer on the third ring, and he shouts into the receiver, "Good _evening_ , my brother from another mother!"

"Cousin. The word you're looking for is cousin." Derek doesn't sound amused but Stiles can just imagine him, choking back a smile at the stupid theatrics.

Every since Derek and co. moved back from New York, Stiles has taken advantage of the lack of time difference by way of periodic phone calls, short dropping-ins to see what big changes are taking place in San Diego and passing along news from Sacramento.

"I'm back at school."

"I heard." There's the sound of chopping in the background, and Stiles checks his watch. Late afternoon…the Hales are probably collaborating to do gourmet tonight. "Your dad mentioned something about you having a new roommate. You and Boyd didn't work out?"

"Nah, he's fine. He just wanted to live off-campus. He found me someone else to live with."

"That's nice of him. Is this new roommate cool?"

"You gonna come kick his ass if he's mean to me?" Stiles smiles when Derek laughs, pulling his knees up to his chest and leaning back against his wall.

"No. That's, like, an eight hour drive. And that's not including traffic."

"You wouldn't brave traffic to defend my honor?"

"Aren't you old enough to defend your own honor?"

"Touché."

Someone's voice picks up in the background and the chopping noises stop. Stiles assumes that Cora has taken over vegetable duty, because if it were Laura, she would have just taken the phone.

"Are you gonna come visit me at all this semester? Now that we're at least in the same state?"

"I don't know, Stiles. It is a _very_ long state."

Stiles groans, long and exaggerated. "That's so dumb, though. I didn't get to see you at all last year."

"You got to see me at Christmas."

"Yeah, _Christmas_."

"Stiles…Stiles Laura is about to—hey, stop, he called _me_ —Stiles, I'm gonna have to talk to you later—"

" _Stiles!_ " Laura shrieks, and from the volume and clarity of it, he assumes that she is now in possession of Derek's phone. He pulls his own phone away from his ear and waits for the ringing there to subside before he gets close enough again to tell her,

"Hey, Laura. How are things south of the equator?"

"Someone hasn't signed up for geography, yet. Things are good. Cora came home from school, Derek brought home prime rib, and we are _celebrating_ tonight!"

"Celebrating what?"

"Good food, Stiles. Have I taught you nothing?"

"I guess not. I guess you'll just have to prove something to me with the kind of food you're celebrating. Can you give the phone back to Derek? I need to talk to him about someone."

" _Someone_? Stiles, is this about your new roommate?"

Fuck. "Did Derek say something to you? Did my dad? Who talked to you?"

"Nobody needs to talk to me for me to know, Stiles. You know that. So tell me about him."

"At least put me on speaker first."

"You're good, Stiles," Derek says in the background. There's a sink running, and he waits for it to turn off before speaking.

"He's a cool guy. On the football team. That's how Boyd knows him."

Laura and Derek start talking at the same time, and in the background, Cora starts saying something, too, probably trying to quiet everybody down, but over the phone it just sounds like a puddle of noise, so Stiles waits a little impatiently for it to quiet. There is, all of the sudden, a lot of shushing, and a lot of shushing the shushing, and then finally, there is quiet.

"He's from Beacon Hills, he might be starting lineup by next year, and he's really fun."

"So when you are going to ask him out?"

Stiles laughs, outright guffaws, and he can feel the offense Laura's taken when she says, "Stiles! You can't say you're going to talk about _someone_ to your _favorite cousins_ and not plan to ask them out! That's just rude!"

"Come on, Laura, he doesn't even _know_."

There's a little bit of a pause there, but it ends when Derek says, "Stiles, I think you just made Laura burn the sauce."

Laura starts to ask, "Why do you say that?" She doesn't finish the question, and Stiles assumes she figures out why he says that. Stiles has himself a giggle before bidding his goodbyes and promising to call again soon. Derek takes the phone off speaker before hanging up, telling him,

"This guy you're rooming with sounds cool. I bet I won't ever have to drive eight hours to kick his ass."

"Probably not. I think he has a girlfriend anyways."

After a moment, Derek says, "Well he'd be lucky to have you. Even just as a friend."

Stiles smiles and ends the call.

 

"Sounds like you guys are getting along okay."

Stiles jumps, dropping his textbook into his lap and losing his page. His mind is still trapped in American Government so he has a really hard time keeping up with Boyd who came out of nowhere and Stiles didn't even know he knew how to find this place. Stiles has mentioned his secret library corner to Boyd, but never given him directions. Scott must have told him. The leaky bastard.

Boyd takes the armchair opposite Stiles, glaring at the colorfully painted walls. He looks about to say something, but Stiles points out that it _is_ the children's lit section, and if he doesn't like it, he can leave.

"I just came to check on you," he says, putting his hands up defensively. Stiles stares for a moment, brow raised, mouth flat, and Boyd shrugs. "I came to see what you think."

"He's nice. I like him. A little bit too happy all the time. I mean, it's been two weeks and he still isn't dulled down by school stuff yet." Stiles pauses, flipping the corners of the pages of his book distractedly. "Do you know Allison?"

Boyd frowns. "No. Who's Allison?"

"I don't know. She's this girl Scott knows and he keeps talking about her."

"Talking about her like…" Boyd trails off, settling into his seat. Stiles rolls his eyes.

"What are you, my therapist?" He sighs and closes his textbook, setting it down next to his backpack. "I don't know. It's just, whenever he talks about something happening back home, he's always like, 'This one time, me and Allison…'. It's like _every_ time is him and Allison. Is she his girlfriend or something?" He tries to say is casually, but Boyd knows him too well to fall for it.

"I've never heard him mention a girlfriend. I've never heard him mention any type of _-friend_. He talks about you, though. I heard you took him out to dinner with your dad?"

Stiles rolls his eyes and groans. "It was my _dad's_ idea, but yes. We took him out to dinner."

"He was really happy about that."

Boyd says it quietly, offhandedly. As though it were just another second-hand tick on the conversation clock. But as soon as he says it, Stiles smiles, small curls of insatiable discomfort blooming in his stomach. He tries to look cool, but he can feel his cheeks pulling and he looks pretty dumb normally anyways. Boyd just watches him as he tries to contain his enthusiasm, obviously amused.

"So anyways, has it passed the point in the semester where you let yourself drink on Thursdays?"

Stiles reaches for his textbook. "I don't drink during the school year."

Boyd barks out a full, hardy laugh, so loud that Stiles' entire body wrenches up into an upright position, and he looks around to see if anybody is going to come over and ask them to quiet down. Boyd doesn't seem bothered. He slumps in his seat, stretches his knees forward, and pushes his hands into his pockets. " _Please_ , Stiles. We're being serious here. There's a party next Thursday and the whole football team is gonna be there."

Stiles bats his lashes. "Am I your plus-one?"

"No. But you could be Scott's." Stiles sobers, waiting for Boyd to say something else. "He said he's gonna ask you to go. He wasn't sure if you would say yes, though, on account of it's going to be a drinking kind of party."

"Yeah, no, yeah, that's fine. I drink."

Boyd nods. "That's how I remember it, anyways. How many times did you drunk-try to kiss me?"

" _Once_ , Boyd."

Boyd smiles cheekily, winking at Stiles, who scowls at him. "I just wanted to make sure you were coming before you let him down. You still drink UV?"

"Yes, Boyd."

"Okay, bring your own mixer."

Boyd's broad back hardly seems to fit through the rows of bookshelves as he leaves, but he's quick and quiet leaving and Stiles watches him go but he doesn't get to watch for long. He's alone very soon, accompanied only by the murals painted on the walls of this corner of the library. Alone with _Scott is going to ask me to a party_. He picks up his book and starts flipping the corners of the pages again, but he doesn't really ever get back to studying.

 

Scott does ask Stiles to the party. Stiles tries to keep his voice level when he says _Yeah, sure, sounds fun_. Honestly, it doesn't sound _anything_. It just sounds like one of those parties with the whole football team there. He went to several of those last year. The only thing that will be different this year is that Scott will be there and Stiles will be trying really hard not to kiss his roommate this time.

Which will mean that Stiles will not be able to drink as much as he normally does at parties. Which is a lot. Stiles likes to work hard and he likes to play harder. He normally has to skip whatever Friday classes he has after a night of partying, because that's his play.

Not this time. He will be bright and early for Criminal Justice and Ethics at eleven-thirty on Friday morning. Because he will have no more than two drinks total for the whole night. That's his limit. Boyd will probably make fun of him and Stiles has a mental list of guys who are going to be really confused about his sobriety (starting with Greenberg and ending with Finstock) but this is a rule he's not going to break. No roommates, no jocks.

 

Miraculously, he sticks with his plan. Stiles had been certain that it would not be so, that he would definitely end up slipping or giving in to pressure or some cataclysm of events would end up with him doing a keg stand, but he doesn't. He doesn't do any of it. In fact, he's been nursing the same drink he got when he walked in, and he's really proud of that.

He's also really amused with Scott, who doesn't look _new_ to drinking so much as he looks like he enjoys it as much as he enjoys everything else in life. Stiles hasn't been counting his beers or anything but Scott definitely isn't on his first or second or fifth.

Scott sticks near him a lot, but also manages to be the life of the party a lot. Stiles has no trouble imagining that Scott is the team's best man, no matter who you ask. He does find some time away from Scott, just enough for Boyd to introduce Stiles more formally to Isaac, who is Boyd's new roommate. Stiles tries really hard not to laugh at him, and considering how sober he still is, he does a really good job.

"That's a really nice scarf," he manages to say almost without laughing.

Boyd looks completely neutral in the whole ordeal, with the Stiles saying too much and the look on Isaac's face, but Stiles is convinced that Boyd is with him on this one. At the very least, Boyd's girlfriend is, and she says some particularly salty things about Lahey's curls, and it sounds like she's not very upset about them at all. Stiles almost spits out what little drink he has in his mouth when she mentions the possibility of a threesome.

"That girl of yours is quite the go-getter," he tells Boyd later.

"Erica? Yeah. She's great," Boyd says, smiling fondly at her dancing across the room.

Stiles smiles at her too, before turning his smile to Scott, who is approaching with a group of guys behind him, drunkenly chanting _Do it! Do it! Do it!_ Stiles immediately freezes. Scott looks nervous. Which is intimidating. Stiles has never liked the sight of large groups of burly, hyper-masculine men chanting things. Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles can see Boyd reaching for him, but he doesn't reach in time.

Scott takes Stiles' face, pulls him close and kisses him. Distantly, Stiles can hear the group behind Scott cheering, and they're probably going to get security called on them. That's not his biggest fear, though. He's not the one who's been drinking. He drops his cup, puts his hands up between him and Scott, and pushes away as hard as he can.

"What the hell," he asks, voice weaker than he wants it to be. All of the sudden, everything is quiet, and he really, _really_ wishes it wasn't. Does Scott know? Who told him? Stiles looks at Boyd, whose face has fallen. Stoic, almost angry. Stiles looks back at Scott, who is completely unreadable. _Maybe_ a little bit ashamed. "I can't believe you," he finally says, and he leaves. He can't believe it. He really can't. Scott never seemed like that kind of guy. Even if it's because he was drinking, Stiles can't excuse it. He storms out of the apartment, storms out of the building, storms into the street, and he tries really hard not to cry.

Stiles almost starts running when he hears footsteps on the pavement behind him, but a glance back shows that it's only Boyd and Erica. He slows and lets them catch up, trying _really_ hard not to cry _now_.

"I'm sorry," Boyd says.

Stiles laughs dryly, not a real laugh. Boyd flinches when he does it. "For what?"

Erica takes his hand, and Boyd puts his hand on Stiles' shoulder. "I had no idea they were going to do that. They're not normally like that, I just…they never messed with you last year. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for something like that to happen."

"Did you tell him?" Stiles asks, turning on Boyd all of the sudden, wrenching his body away from both of them. "I don't know anybody else who could have told him about me."

Boyd shakes his head, putting his hands up feebly. "I didn't tell him."

Erica steps into view, taking up alongside Boyd. "Tell him _what_?" she presses, nervous but outstandingly curious.

Stiles rolls his eyes and starts walking again. "That I like him."

" _Like_ him?"

"Liked him," Stiles corrects.

Boyd and Erica look at each other and Stiles rolls his eyes, exaggerating his anger to hide the hurt. But it turns out that they're not exchanging pity. Boyd invites Stiles to stay at his place for a little while, and Stiles can't imagine anything better.

"I need to get some stuff…some books, I guess, I mean…just for a few days, but—"

"It's fine, Stiles," Boyd interrupts. "Go. The door will be unlocked when you get there."

Scott isn't at the dorms when Stiles gets in. He's been holding his breath the entire time he unlocks the door and he lets it go when he finds the room empty. He packs two backpacks: the school bag and the overnight bag. He takes both to Boyd's place, glad that Isaac isn't back yet.

"He'll be fine with it," Boyd says when his roommate is mentioned. "I mean, you're not his favorite person, but he's really against stuff like that." Boyd pauses. "We all are, man. I don't know what happened tonight."

Stiles just waves him off. "It's fine. It's whatever. It just happens sometimes." His words get increasingly bitter as he goes on, and he cuts himself off before he can go off the deep end. Instead, he tells Boyd how much he appreciates being able to stay here for a little bit. He means it. Boyd claps a hand down onto his back and tells him to stay as long as he needs to.

The couch isn't very comfortable, but it's better than the alternative.

 

Stiles doesn't text Derek until the following morning. It's early, he slept fitfully, and he's not surprised because this couch is garbage. He wakes somewhere around six and texts Derek maybe a few minutes later, but he gets an immediate response.

_Got a couple days off. Coming to see you. Email ur teachers, tell them ur sick._

_Can't_ , he replies. _Class is important. pick me up @ 4:45 when I get out._

Derek agrees, and Stiles feels a little bit better about getting up and going to school today. He thinks about his classes, and he really likes a lot of them. He's going to go to them, even American Government. Which he shares with Scott.

And about one hundred other people, he thinks to himself. He has to go. He's already running from home. He can't run from class, too.

Okay.

_Okay._

Criminal Justice and Ethics isn't bad. A little bit dry, and Stiles has never really aligned himself politically with this professor, but it's not a difficult class to suffer through. Not when Stiles brings crosswords to all of his classes.

After this, he has a break for lunch, and then nothing until American Government. He considers skipping for probably the hundredth time, but he doesn't. He gets lunch and hardly eats it. Goes to class almost late and takes a seat in the very front of the class, on the side of the room closest to the door, and he hopes Derek comes through.

Not that Stiles has ever had a reason to doubt Derek, who shows up at exactly 4:35 in the afternoon at the building and room number Stiles texted him this morning. It's not exactly cold enough for a leather jacket yet (almost, but not just yet) but that's what Derek is wearing. A leather jacket, plain white tee, and dark wash jeans. Stiles rolls his eyes, but he can hear some of the girls behind him whispering excitedly. Stiles puts these items of clothing on the christmas list he keeps in his head and starts packing up his things.

"Excuse me, sir, I don't appreciate the interruption to my class. Do you need something?" Stiles' head snaps up as he watches his professor approach Derek, who smiles disarmingly. It doesn't stop her cold stare, but she doesn't exactly ask him to leave just yet.

"I'm just here to pick someone up."

"Well it's going to have to wait—"

"Actually," Stiles says, jumping out of his seat and swinging his backpack on in the same motion, "I will be here ten minutes early on Monday." And he rushes over to the door in a few long strides. Glances back, not really committing to the movement until he sees Scott, sitting right around where they both normally sit. Watching him, jaw set in a way that makes it look less lopsided but more angry. Stiles just rolls his eyes and follows Derek out.

"Thanks," he says, letting Derek wrap an arm around his shoulders.

"Is that the guy?" Derek asks.

"Who?"

"The one you were looking at just now."

"Oh. Yeah. That's my roommate."

"Want me to kick his ass?"

Stiles laughs, legitimately laughs, and he reaches up to wrap his arm around Derek's waist. "No, it's okay. Boyd might take care of it before you can."

"Before I can? Stiles, I can literally turn around, walk back into that classroom, and beat him up. I don't understand how Boyd could—"

"Derek, Boyd is magic. I don't know how many times I have to explain this to you."

Derek sighs and lets go of Stiles' shoulders. They walk in silence for a moment, ambling slowly down the sidewalk towards the edge of campus. Finally, Derek says, "I don't know if you're still staying in your dorm—"

"I'm not," Stiles interjects. "I'm staying with Boyd."

"Well, I have a hotel room right off campus. You could stay with me for the weekend," Derek offers.

Stiles smiles at him. The shame that should accompany running from his own room hasn't caught up with him yet, and he happily accepts an actual bed over Boyd's crummy couch. _No offense_ , he adds to his text to Boyd when he lets him know what's up.

 

Derek pulls a bottle of Jack Daniels out of his bag, handing it to Stiles. On its front is a sticky note with curly handwriting all over it, signed by both Laura and Cora. On it, it says that they have sent Derek to be Stiles' knight in shining armor and that if he comes home without kicking this punk roommate's ass, he will be excommunicated from the family.

"How kind of them," Stiles deadpans.

"Yeah," Derek continues, "they really know how to show familial compassion during times of distress."

Stiles fingers the label of the bottle, peeling at the corner of it. "Nobody's said anything to my dad, right?"

Derek takes a seat beside Stiles on the bed and shakes his head. "No. We figure that's your business, whether you do or not."

"Thanks."

A can of coke and a styrofoam cup land in his lap and Derek holds up his own equipment, and Stiles smiles. He didn't get to drink last night, so he figures he might as well enjoy himself tonight.

 

When Stiles wakes up, his face is a little bit sensitive, a little swollen, and he prods at his cheeks and the puffs of his under eye circles and he thinks that maybe it was the drinking. Maybe he just didn't drink enough water before bed. Maybe he didn't spend all last night crying to Derek about how much he really liked Scott and how embarrassing it was to have such a rude joke played on him.

No, no, he definitely did do that. He sighs, rubs his swollen eyes, and looks over at Derek, who is still sleeping. Turns to look out the window of the hotel room, only to find that it is coming down rain so heavy and straight. No wind today. Just flat, portly downfall.

There were no explicit plans, as far as Stiles is aware. The plan was mostly that Derek would show up and whisk Stiles away from all the troubles of being on campus, essentially.

He ends up watching TV until Derek wakes up, and at first, consciousness only seems to serve to pull the pillow out from under his head so that he can use it as a buffer against the real world. He lays like that, pillow curled around his face, for a few more minutes, before peeking out and looking over at Stiles.

"You been up awhile?"

Stiles shrugs and shakes his head, because that's the polite thing to do when family sleeps in. Derek groans and sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He watches Stiles who watches the TV. Neither of them move for a moment, trying to wait out the other one's gaze. Stiles wins when Derek stands up to pull on real clothes, and then he loses when Derek takes a seat beside him on his bed.

"So last night."

"Yeah, sorry. Normally I'm not drunk and sad at the same time."

"Have you thought about requesting a new roommate? Sexual harassment is a pretty substantial thing."

Stiles shrugs. "I haven't thought about doing anything, really."

Derek nods and watches the TV for a moment. "Well, you can't do nothing," he says finally. "In fact, you're lucky that I'm here and not Laura. She would have taken you right to Scott. And probably beat his face in or something. With some sort of lawsuit, I guess."

Stiles laughs and turns on his side a little bit. "Yeah. I guess I could call housing or something."

"I think you should."

 

On Sunday night, after Derek has left, Boyd tries to get Stiles to come back and stay with him. Isaac even offers to make dinner for all of them. Stiles laughs and accuses Isaac of trying to poison him. Erica slaps him on the arm, and it hurts more than he expected it would.

"Isaac doesn't know how to poison food," she tells him. "He's trying to be nice for once, the least you could do is give him some positive reinforcement."

But Stiles tells them that he has to go back. It's like an honor thing, but mixed in a little bit with proof of masculinity and territorial claims. Boyd nods in understanding, Erica rolls her eyes like she thinks the whole thing is stupid, and Isaac has wandered off to something more pertinent to his own life.

Boyd tells Stiles to call if anything happens.

Stiles gears himself up for anything that could happen. His hand trembles as he holds his key up to the lock. It takes a couple tries before he can slide it in, and his grip isn't strong enough to get the lock to turn on his first attempt. He takes a deep breath, tells himself that he is _not_ going to have a panic attack over this, and he pushes his way in.

The room is empty. All the air that Stiles had been holding in his lungs, he lets it out. He drops the heavy backpack of school things, and then tosses the lighter overnight bag onto his bed. Considers turning on the television, considers taking Scott's pillow and throwing it out the window, and in the end, decides on a shower. He needs it. He feels gross, like he's been wearing the same clothes since Thursday night. And as nice as hotel showers can be, it's strange how much he's missed the tiny, square shower that sits in the tiny little corner of his tiny bathroom.

The water is so hot it almost hurts, and he plays music from his phone, and everything is nice. He finally gets to smell like his own body wash and shampoo again. An eternity of a weekend has passed since he's been able to smell like himself.

He comes out of the bathroom in a good mood, towel only loosely slung around his hips like he's practicing for a bad porno, and he has the displeasure of stumbling almost right into a very sheepish-looking Scott.

"I…guessed you were back…with the whole shower thing," he starts to say, mumbling, stepping out of Stiles' way.

Stiles just stares him down until he backs away more. He doesn't say anything as he goes to his drawers to find fresh clothes, just tries to think of something that doesn't sound dumb. The best he can come up with is the truth. "I'm going to apply for another roommate."

The tension in the air crackles, silence becoming to weak to hold it back anymore. " _What?_ " Scott says, so sharp and so loud that it doesn't even sound like a question anymore, just an outraged, indignant bark of sound.

Stiles turns on him, jaw set, eyes hard. "What, you think everything's just _okay_ now? We just don't talk about it and things'll be fine?" He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "I'm not the butt of your little joke, Scott," and Scott rears back, even more angry and even more confused and hurt, definitely hurt now.

"Whatever! Fuck it, Stiles," he shouts, and Stiles backs away carefully, vigilant of impending violence. "You know what, if you didn't want me to kiss you, you could have _told_ me you had a boyfriend!"

The fighting screeches to an absolute halt there, Scott's shoulders heaving with short, deep breaths, and Stiles just starting. Wracking his brain. Boyfriend? When did he get a boyfriend? When did he _tell_ anyone about having a boyfriend? He doesn't _have_ a boyfriend. But trying to tell Scott that goes over as though he were telling a dumb joke.

Scott snorts and turns toward his bed to start undressing. "Yeah, okay. Whatever. If you're getting rid of me, the least you can do is stop lying to me."

Stiles balks. "I don't have a boyfriend Scott!"

"Oh, okay! So some _random underwear model_ just decides to pick you up ten minutes before class gets out! Got it!" Scott pauses and throws a mean look over his shoulder. "If he's not your boyfriend, I guess you just _hired_ him to show up? I mean, where do you even _find_ guys like that."

Stiles doesn't think he knows any underwear models. It hits him all at once, and as mad as he is, and as offended as he is by Scott's presence, he can't stop laughing. _Derek_? An _underwear model_? Derek—oh fuck, Scott thinks that Derek is his _boyfriend_.

"Gross," Stiles says.

"Yeah, _normal people_ don't have to pay for…for _company_."

Stiles realizes that Scott doesn't know why Stiles thinks this is gross, and he laughs even harder. Scott just keeps getting redder and redder, and the grip he has on the shirt he still is working on taking off is getting tighter and tighter. "No, _no_ , Derek is my _cousin_."

Scott stops pulling at his shirt, stops making a mean face, and really just looks away from Stiles as quickly as he can. Stiles gets a little bit uncomfortable and goes back to pulling clothes out and trying to dry himself off as discreetly as possible. "That doesn't excuse your stupid prank. I really trusted you, and I don't think I—"

" _Stiles_ ," Scott interjects. "I _don't know what prank you're talking about_."

Stiles turns to look at him, face kind of shriveling in. "The, you know," and he waves his hand in a vaguely definitive gesture, "the whole— _kissing_ —thing."

Scott looks really hurt now. Not even like Stiles has kicked his puppy, but like he's the puppy that just got kicked. "Stiles…"

"It's fine. Let's just," more hand waving, "do the thing where we don't talk about it—"

Scott is kissing him again. Stiles is even more surprised this time around and it takes him even longer to get his wits about him and push Scott away. " _Dude_ ," he starts to say, " _Allison—_ "

The look Scott gives him is incredulous. "How does this have _anything_ to do with Allison!"

"What would she think?"

"She probably be surprised that I actually took her advice for once!"

"Ad—what? Advice?"

"She said if I liked you and if you liked me I should probably just kiss you already." Scott scuffs the toe of his sneaker against the linoleum, eyes fixed down at his feet. "I'm sorry I was so drunk when I did it."

"So Allison…" Scott gives Stiles a withering look, but Stiles persists. "She's not your girlfriend?"

"What? No! I never said she was. She's my best friend. It's…it wasn't like that. Is that what…you thought I was dating her?"

Stiles shrugs. "Well, yeah."

"Well I'm not. I never was."

"Oh." Stiles bites his lip. "And the kiss…was real?"

Scott chokes out a nervous laugh, putting his hands on his hips. " _Yes._ "

Stiles clears his throat, and looks around the room for a moment, and his grip on his towel loosens and tightens in shaky intervals. He finally looks up at Scott, brow raised, impatient, finally says, "Well in that case, I mean, you can continue. If you want."

It's been awhile, Stiles realizes, since he saw Scott's smile. It spreads wide, exacerbates whatever is wrong with Scott's jaw, and brightens everything. He is, quite suddenly, right in front of Stiles, and he asks, _Really?_ , but doesn't actually wait for an answer before he is kissing Stiles. It's a wonderful feeling to be able to kiss back.

Stiles still has one hand on his towel, but he brings the other up, fingers curling at the back of Scott's neck, holding him close. He hasn't had a kiss like this since high school, he may never have had a kiss like this, and it's wonderful. He moans into it, and Scott steps forward, leading him back, leading him down onto his bed. They have to fall at an angle to keep from smashing into the wall, but the way it ends up is with Scott half laying on Stiles and Stiles losing a grip on his towel.

"Wait, wait, I gotta get this thing back up," he says, but Scott pushes Stiles' hands away and actually pulls his shirt off this time.

"Or I could just," Scott starts, letting the sentence trail off. Stiles nods dumbly and, instead, reaches forward to undo the fastenings of Scott's jeans. They push them away and the boys are left in their last layers, their mouths pressed together again, hands can't stay still, Stiles finally pulls Scott as close as he can get him. Scott moans into his mouth. It's the greatest feeling ever.

Scott pushes Stiles' towel away when he isn't paying attention, but the suddenness of his bare skin against the smooth cotton of Scott's boxers is jarring: he bucks up into it. "God, yes," he moans, pushing lazily at Scott's waistband. Together, they manage to get the shorts down just far enough for their cocks to line up, slotted against each other, dipping into the curves of each other's hipbones. Stiles sucks in a sharp breath at the feeling, pulling Scott closer by his ass. Scott groans and pulls Stiles' hair. It's fucking _wonderful_.

"I'm gonna come," Stiles says, because it's the first coherent thing that comes into his head. Scott just nods and keep rutting, keeps moving his hips like how the _fuck_ did he learn to move like that was it dance classes at the rec? and Stiles jerks, a full-bodied flinch when he feels Scott's arm wind around him, fingers stroking him right where he splits. He opens his legs wider, pushing forward against Scott's stomach and then back against his fingers, their dry tips brushing just hard enough to _almost_ slide in, and that's what does it.

His chest pulses forward, head falls back, hands clenching and arms unfastening. Halfway through it, Scott kisses him, keeps rubbing against him until Stiles pushes him away. Scott goes, but doesn't get too far before Stiles grabs his dick, fist slow and tight around the head.

" _Yes_ ," Scott breathes, pushing into it, reaching down to fix Stiles' grip and then thrusting into it. " _Yes_ , Stiles, _fuck_ ," and he comes without warning. By then, Stiles' arm has tired, and the surprise is pleasant, warm on the bare skin of his stomach.

Scott almost falls forward onto him, but Stiles pushes him to the side at the last second. Scott goes easily, pushing his nose into Stiles' hair, wrapping his arms around his waist. After a moment of silence, he asks, "How stupid are we?"

"I'm gonna let you take the blame for this one," Stiles decides, turning his head to smile down his nose at Scott.

" _Me? You're_ the one who got all offended."

"Um, _yeah_. You come up and kiss me with a group of fanboys shouting _Do it! Do it!_ behind you. How was I supposed to take that?"

"A little less harshly?" Scott offers, smiling irresistibly up at Stiles.

Stiles watches warily for a moment before giving in to rolling over, smearing the mess between their stomachs just to get a kiss. "Maybe next time. Forewarning, I have some cousins who might kill you when they meet you. Not really a sure thing."

"Is it gonna be the hot one?"

Stiles rolls his eyes. "No, his sisters."

"You'll protect me, right?" Scott looks so hopeful.

Stiles just laughs.


End file.
